Change
by 11x20
Summary: Walter/Eileen. A series of events post-21 Sacraments-ending that lead to peace for the restless dead. Rating will vary from K to M. Current chapter: 05; "Cut".
1. Sleep

"_It's all a dream, you're going to wake up soon, and you'll be lying in your bed, with the sun shining in through your window." _Eileen once thought repeatedly in her mind. It was a thought, rather, a wish that had been popping up less and less lately. She had lost count of the days, lost count of the weeks, even lost count of the months that had passed since that day in April that she was beaten into a deep sleep from which she had yet to awaken from. The source of her torment? The very man who lay silently beside her in the bed that once belonged to her quiet neighbor.

At first, she fought to escape the confines of Room 302. But no matter what, no matter where she ran to-- the locked door at the bottom of the lobby, the dark and hollow memory of her bedroom with the bloody stuffed animal, he always found her. He always brought her back, and the little boy, his younger self, was always there. The little ghost was always happy to see her return, and referred to her as the 'living' mother, where the room itself had always been in his eyes, the 'holy mother'.

Despite all of her anger with the man in the long, blue coat, she couldn't hate the child. After all, the child frequently protected her not just from the demons that roamed the twisted wilderness of rust and wear outside of the safety that was Room 302.

Yes, she knew, the will to fight was dwindling but the process was so very long and painful. It was a matter of accepting her own death. She only slowly came to a painful realization that there was nothing to return to should she escape the hellish world created by the killer. This was her after life, this was her hell, and despite her body remaining intact at the wishes of the little boy, she truly was just another ghost. Just like Joseph Schreiber, just like Richard Braintree... even just like the bloody corpse of Henry she had seen once, standing outside of the door and mumbling in tongues for hours.

Days were always bleak and monotone, but she got used to it, she found.

The radio was often always static, but she had noticed that when the boy was happy, she could make out faint music coming in. What had become of the world she once knew? It made her wonder. Her parents had both died before her, and she only had a small circle of friends. She wondered if anyone even held her a funeral. It was only in the afterlife that she realized how lonesome her life had been.

Breathing softly, she turned onto her side. The gray bed beneath her that had once been Henry's was uncomfortable and stiff. But she got used to it. She was facing him, now, that man with the long, dirty blond hair. His eyes were closed, and she wondered often if he even really slept. Although, she thought, she still slept every evening despite never being physically tired or drained. Perhaps she was still clinging to her humanity in a sense. She wondered if he did, too.

"_Of course he's sleeping... He would be staring at me right now, like a creep, if he were awake." _Eileen thought, reassuring herself. Despite the many months that had passed, she was still wary around him. He was still as stoic as ever, yet she recognized that he was trying his hardest to show affection to his 'living mother'. It wasn't something he was well practiced in, she could imagine, knowing what kind of solitary life he led. Yet she had always found it odd that he wanted to sleep beside her as such every night. Even the little boy opted to rest comfortably on the soft sofa in the living room, but she had come to the conclusion that the child was more attached to his spiritual 'holy mother' than the adult who showed more attachment to her, the flesh 'living mother'.

Just slightly, ever so faintly, she could hear a soft snoring sound. It amused her slightly. Something about people snoring had always made her laugh, even though she knew she probably did it too. Eileen was always described as, "easily amused" by the people around her.

Even though the room was so very dark, she could make out the features of his face clearly. At this point, sleeping beside him every night, at first, turned away, but more recently turning to face him, she was beginning to know every blemish, every wrinkle, and even the scars on his neck like the back of her own hand. At first, it had scared her, the way she had suddenly taken an interest in knowing him-- but it comforted her enough to chalk it down to boredom.

He didn't move around much when he slept, although there were the rare occasions that she woke up in the ever-foggy mornings with his arm around her waist, pulling her body close against his own. The first time caused her to panic and stumble away from him, leaving him looking down at her with slight hurt in his eyes. At that point she couldn't have cared less whether she hurt his 'feelings' or not. But as of late, she began to wish that the morning would come with his arms around her.

It had been so long since she felt another human hold her. At this point it didn't even matter if it was _him_.

On nights she couldn't sleep, she often resigned to listening to him breathing. It was steady, inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale... sometimes, when he was dreaming, she could hear just the faintest moan. Something pained and sad, telling of an unpleasant memory or dream.

He lay on his side, facing her, and she lay on hers, facing him. At any uninformed glance, they would have looked like two lovers. In the most remote part of her mind, beneath all the hate and anger she still harbored toward him, there was something that wanted to move closer. He was asleep after all, she thought. He would have never known that she made her way closer to him on her own.

With a shaky breath, she shifted her body closer, closer, until she could gently bury her face against his warm chest. He had fallen asleep with his jacket on again, and the plastic-like material was painfully loud in her mind. She wasn't ready to wake him up with her body so close to his. But still, he didn't stir. She listened close-- he still breathed long and slow, lost in sleep. As she closed her eyes, she felt him sleepily move his arm around her, trapping her beside him. That's the way things always were-- he would always lure her in, then trap her. But now, she had simply gotten used to it.


	2. Love

Love was something for other people, but not for her, Eileen always thought. It wasn't to say she had given up on it-- like any other twenty-three year old woman, she had her fair share of heartbreak, but she also knew that there were many other fish in the sea. Love was a word she had come across in one of Henry's old books she had, in boredom, pulled from the shelf in his living room. She read it quietly as Little Walter hummed and drew in an old sketchbook nearby.

Illuminated by the foggy light coming in through the window, Eileen had taken a reluctant liking to the grocery store romance novel she had found. She knew that Henry had to have come across it by pure accident-- perhaps one of those things that just showed up in your moving boxes that you didn't remember having and possibly took from a sibling or roommate? It wasn't in his taste-- especially after she had found so many books on photography, travel, journalism, a few old stacks of National Geographic magazines in one of the laundry room's cardboard boxes. In her infinite boredom, she had followed the tale of a maiden in the middle ages who had been forced to marry a baron for the sake of her family. Over the course of 270 pages (with another 400 to go, she shuddered), the maiden was beginning to question her feelings for the once-cruel baron.

Such a horrible play on a Stockholm Syndrome plot device, Eileen laughed in her mind. Although it was coming across _that word_ that made her stomach sink. When she had come across that word, she only then connected the dots, realizing that she only read on because she related to the maiden's situation of captivity... and she was beginning to relate to the trapped girl's change of heart toward the heartless captor.

Eileen looked over at the door-- Walter had left before she woke up. He often did, and she could care less where he went every day. With the way blood always stained his jacket, fresh and crimson when he returned, she knew he most likely took his own boredom out on the demons of his world. In this man-made hell, he was the king and the legions were at his mercy. The tale of Hades and Persephone came to mind as she looked back at the old, paperback book. Both in analogy to the characters of the novel in her hands and to her own entrapment in his underworld. Except, unlike Persephone, Eileen didn't get to return to the world of the living, not ever. She was there, with him and the child and his legion of undead atrocities forever.

"Mom..." Came the child's voice. Eileen looked over as Little Walter stood, bringing his sketchbook to her nervously. He smiled, and his cheeks glowed pink as she turned the book to face her, "I drew you, mommy. Do you like it?"

Eileen smiled warmly. The boy always brought so much joy to the cold life she lived in that world. He sat beside her and she took him into her arms replying, "I love it, it's beautiful."

Little Walter grinned as he looked up at her, "You're beautiful, mommy."


	3. Pain

Eileen was growing impatient and anxious, unsure of what to do next. She stood in the hallway, looking into the dark, unlit living room. The little boy slept soundly on the sofa with his back facing her. The orange light coming from the hallway bathroom behind her just shined enough on him to tell her he was fast asleep, sucking his thumb and cuddling the plush, gray pillows. Rain pattered against thick glass windows, as it did ever so rarely. She loved the boy, she truly did. She knew she was the mother he had longed for and he was the little boy she had always dreamed of. Yet none of this was right-- her prolonged existence after her murder at the hands of the child's older self was a dull, absurd existence akin to what nightmares are made of.

Yet where exactly would she go if she tried to run? She had tried escaping, but every door, every single window, every fire escape was sealed shut. Wandering the halls of her once-welcoming apartment complex was now a dangerous feat, with creatures formed of rotting flesh prowling the corridors. While they feared and scattered when their creator was near, she knew from previous escape attempts that the demons were more than willing to attack and attempt to feast on her body. The thought made her shudder sickly, but the idea of death was becoming the most clear and foolproof escape plan left. If it wasn't at the claws of the twisted monsters, it would be by her own hand.

She left the light on in the bathroom-- the boy hated being left in the dark-- and begun to make her way toward the front door. Eileen took one last quiet glance at the boy as she silently opened it. Sound asleep, and probably never going to see her again. Inside, she felt both desperate for release from this confined hell, yet sick with herself. The only option she was left with disgusted her to the core.

As she stepped out into the hall, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her, she was pleased to see that there were no demons wandering about. Save for the bloody corpse of a dog-like creature on the ground, riddled with bullet holes, she was alone. In her hand was her only means of defense-- a large kitchen knife she had taken from her own apartment earlier in the day and hid in a book until Walter left. Holding it, she reasoned that it was for self defense..._ but then again..._

What good would it be? There was another reason that her mind wasn't willing to mention just yet.

The air was hot and damp, and the walls seemed to breathe as if the red, flesh-like material covering them were working lungs. The smell of old garbage from the far end of the corridor was nauseating. Making her way to the stairwell, she could hear the faintest echo of a dog-demon's cry. Was he somewhere nearby? Her heart began to beat faster in anxiety as she clutched the knife's grip tightly._ "Maybe... just maybe I can end this nightmare if..."_

She peered over the railing of the stairs cautiously and then quickly pulled back into the shadows when she saw Walter on the lobby floor. He roughly tugged the axe from a demon's body, then brought it down once more, blood splashing onto his skin and clothes. It was an absolute mess of dismembered limbs and torn flesh, and Eileen felt sickened at the sight. She looked around for some other way... he was far too close for comfort, and she could hear him rambling to himself below. She knew he only mumbled to himself like that when he was upset... and when he was upset, she hated being around him the very most.

With a quick breath, she began to step down the stairs, seeking the one unlocked door on the second floor. She knew that if she kept close to the wall, he couldn't see her. As she made her way lower and lower, Eileen could just barely begin to make out what his shivering voice was saying.

_"...hate you... sick... so fucking sick... fucking disgusting..."_ Were among his curses as he angrily continued to drive the axe into the monster's body. She realized that he was crying as he spoke, _"...mom... s... ...fault.."_

It was in her nature to want to help people. But she also knew it was that very nature that landed her in this place. She was done extending her sympathy to him, and she was done living on the edge of what questionable sanity remained in him. The times like this, where he angrily destroyed everything in sight while babbling tearful curses and words of hatred were what showed he was beyond her help, and she hated it. Nothing she could do or say had ever been able to bring him back from the deepest lows of his unstable emotions.

She was already close enough to the second floor door that she could touch the knob with the tip of her fingers. Eileen knew she was going to have to be pretty damn quiet if she was going to make it out of there unnoticed. She froze when she realized the swinging of the axe and the crushing of bones had suddenly ended. His incoherent ramblings became low chuckles as he stood tall, leaning his head back and looking up at the ceiling.

Above the lobby hung a demon restrained by a flesh body bag that simply remained suspended at the center of the stairwell. The blood-red metal cone where the figure's face should have been was indeed unnerving. However, it didn't exactly make her feel threatened either. Like every other monster, she wondered what it was. Yet something was different... significant about this creation. She wasn't about to digress and try to figure it out, however.

On the lobby floor, Walter was still laughing a low, quiet cackle as he looked up at the suspended form.

_"I would have been happier if you just killed me..."_ She heard him quietly chuckle, and then with abrupt change, he was tearfully whispering, _"...why didn't you just kill me?"_

Eileen looked at the door handle, and prayed in her mind that she wouldn't be heard. Turning, turning, turning, oh so agonizingly slow, she worked her hardest not to make a sound.

"You can kill me, can't you?" He said, suddenly just inches beside her.

Eileen screamed loudly, bolting away and huddling against the corner of the door and wall. He stood over her menacingly, with a mix of blood and tears running down his face and the sickest grin she could ever imagine. He still held that bloody axe in one shivering hand where his grip was so tight that his knuckles were pale and white. Eileen was cornered, with the door to her right and a metal fence that blocked her path to the left. In front of her was a disgruntled madman with a blood-and-rust covered axe.

_"Can't you?"_ He asked pleadingly and taking a step closer.

Eileen quickly took her chances and reached back for the door. She pulled her hand away, however, just in time to see him swing the axe into the door, hard enough to send splinters of wood and chunks of old paint down on her. She screamed in terror, her own hot tears running down her cheeks as she sought some kind of escape.

With one hand still loosely hanging onto the handle of the axe that was now embedded in the door, Walter slowly dropped to his knees before her. He sobbed, choking out in utter pain, _"You can kill me..."_

Eileen crawled away quickly, until she couldn't move any further. She pulled out her knife, knowing in her mind that it was simply laughable how defenseless she truly was.

_"...I... I..."_ He shuddered, lowering his head, _"I hate her... I hate her so much, I want to fucking kill her... and, and you're... you're her. B-But I love her, I love mom... but..."_

It wasn't the first time he had broken down like this. In fact, it was all too frequent that in her attempts at escape, she had come across him locked away in the depths of the building, covered in blood and muttering tearful nonsense. Yet this time there was a kind of coherence to his words that only brought her more terror. He hated _her_, and she was _her_.

"Walter...?" Eileen breathed.

His hand dropped from the axe handle as he slowly hunched over and wrapped his hands over his arms in the loneliest self-embrace, _"I hate everything... I just want everything to go away..."_

Walter was shaking, and his long hair obscured his tear-and-blood stained face, _"Please kill me... make this all stop..."_

"I..." Eileen gripped the knife tightly, questioning whether she really could make everything end by cutting short the life of the hellish world's creator, "I can't..."

"Do it..." He pleaded.

Eileen found that she too was shivering now, caught in both a physical corner and an emotional one as well. What was stopping her from plunging the knife into his neck? At that moment she felt a little tinge of hatred welling inside. A hatred both for her captor and for herself. '_Weakness_' came to mind as she gripped the blade's black, plastic handle and moved toward him. It made her so angry, so very hateful with herself to be caught in such helplessness. She always hated being helpless the very most.

"Alright. I'll kill you." Eileen sighed angrily.

He reached out suddenly, still hunched over with his face hidden from her sight. Before she could recoil, his hand tightly held hers, and he pulled the knife against his neck, _"Here... do it here..."_

_Of course he would know_, Eileen thought. His hand slipped away, and she was left to finish the job.

One moment... two moments... three, she couldn't.

She couldn't move, she could barely breathe, she could hardly think.

Quickly, Eileen pulled away, breaking down, "I can't do it! I'm sorry..."

_"That's alright. You're not my mother anyway." _Walter's words were as if he had taken the knife and suddenly thrust it into her own heart. She had to admit that in the last months of confinement, with just he and the little boy, she had grown accustomed to being called, 'Mother' by the two of them. It was strange and twisted she knew, but she was living in a strange and twisted world.

He pulled a gun out from within his jacket, and pressed the tip of the barrel against his temple as he continued to shudder and sob. It was only at that moment that Eileen cried out, "Don't!! Please!!"

"WALTER!!"

But she could only see blood everywhere for just a second before she turned away in terror and disgust. She curled away from him as she heard his body lifelessly hit the floor with a thump. Eileen screamed and covered her eyes. What had he done? She had seen it all... so much blood spraying from the opposite side of his head.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours. Eileen had yet to stop crying and turn to face the body behind her. She gripped the knife tightly, feeling the tip against her neck, just like Walter had shown her before. If the nightmare wasn't ending with it's creator's death, then she knew there was only one final option for escape.

She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing only on the pain, the loneliness, the terror... it stung against her skin, so sharp and cold...

But again, she couldn't do it.

Cursing, she threw the knife over the railing and began to cry in frustration.

_"I'm such a fucking coward..."_ She cursed inside.

If only she could go home, see the sun again, see a blue sky and white clouds... it was most terrifying to think that she was beginning to forget what a warm summer day felt like.

Eileen slowly began to turn toward him. The blood and pieces of flesh scattered on the wall were nauseating to see, and the body of her captor lay on the ground with eyes wide and empty, long strands of dirty blond hair slightly obscuring his face. She moved closer, slowly. _"He had the right idea..."_ she thought, eying the gun in his hands.

"Mom..." His voice came, causing her to jump back and scream.

He didn't move, but his hazel eyes were on her, wide and hollow, "...mom..."

She didn't know how to react, in all honesty. What was she supposed to do? She wasn't ready to try and kill him again. Seeing him blink, seeing him breathe faintly... it brought a sick joy to her that she wanted to crush out of her mind. Perhaps it was the fact that she wasn't alone with a dead body anymore, she reasoned.

"Mom..." He groaned again, moving a hand toward her, tears flowing once more, "M... Mom..."

Eileen moved toward him slowly, bitterly whispering, "I thought I wasn't your mother."

He whimpered and began to frown, as if the urge to break down were threatening once more, repeating breathlessly, "Mom..."

With a sigh, Eileen wiped the tears from her face and sat beside him. She lifted his heavy, limp body by the shoulders and rested his head on her lap. Blood no longer poured from the exit wound, yet his blond hair was stained with coagulated black-red fluid and whatever had once been a part of the wound was quickly scabbing over and healing in an inhuman way. But it didn't repulse her. Not in the slightest.

He reached up to touch her face. His bloody fingers left marks on her chin, her lips, her cheeks. But she didn't recoil. She put her hand over his, and listened to him cry.


	4. Heartbeat

He often gazed out into thin air as if he were entranced by something Eileen could not see. She wondered often what could be going through his mind, what kind of thoughts were going through his head. But she also knew it was pointless to try and wonder. There was no trying to think the way he thought-- that could probably drive her crazy.

Walter hadn't looked at her as they walked back to 302, but she let him lean his tall, tired body against her as they walked. It was like carrying home a drunken boyfriend almost, Eileen thought. She knew she should feel annoyance at that, but there was that maternal streak in her that she could not suppress. When there was someone in need of help or a shoulder to lean on, Eileen was always there. She never could understand why-- had it just been the way she was wired? Seeing someone smile and find peace after heartache was always the most beautiful thing in the world to her.

Maybe that was it. She just wanted to make people happy.

"You should really get some rest." Eileen advised. Walter didn't seem to listen as they approached the front door.

Finally, he responded quietly, "I'm not very tired."

"How could you not be tired? I would think shooting yourself in the head and being dead for a while is a bit tiring." Eileen half laughed. Walter smiled slightly.

Stepping into the dark, quiet apartment, Walter seemed to move straight for the hallway, disappearing into the shadows. Eileen paused before following, taking a moment to check on little Walter, who was sleeping soundly on the couch. Seeing his peaceful face as he snuggled the couch brought a much needed sense of peace after a chaotic night.

Even though he had denied being tired, she found Walter lying on the bed looking sound asleep as well. She couldn't tell, though. The room was dark and his back faced her. With a sigh she took her place beside him and moved close, bravely nestling her head against his back.

"Are you sleeping?"

"No."

"...are you mad at me?"

"No."

Eileen smiled, but knew something still wasn't right. What had suddenly put so much distance between them when she was finally willing to reach out to him? Just her luck.

"Why are you so close to me?" He asked.

"I don't want you to be cold."

He was quiet for a moment, before Eileen could faintly make out choked cries and feel his body shivering. She put an arm around him slowly and carefully. Never before had she moved to embrace him. Walter seemed to shudder under her touch, and clutched a handful of blanket tightly. A part of her wondered if moving so close to him was going to upset him.

Though there was that something inside of her that she had been trying too hard not to think about. That something made her throw caution to the wind and pull him to her. Quickly, she tugged him by the shoulder, pulling him on to his back and she leaned up, looking down at him. He averted his teary eyes and his expression held both fear and sorrow.

Eileen wrapped her arms around him and lay her head down on his chest, ignoring the flurry of emotions surging inside of her. Satisfaction, anger, fear, her own sorrow... she wasn't in the mood for it. She just wanted that moment.

Slowly and carefully, Walter moved his arms over her shoulders, holding her close. He had never imagined that a moment would come where he held such a fragile, beautiful thing so close to his body.

"I didn't think dead people had a heartbeat." Eileen said softly.

Walter took a shaky breath and replied, working to regain composure, "You have a heartbeat."

Eileen never liked remembering her own death. It was hard enough to accept that she was going to be there with the two Walters for a very, very long time. But she was working on that. One step at a time, she reasoned.

The rhythmic beating beneath her ear was steady, but fast. She could only imagine that he felt the same stirring butterflies within him that she felt, or the same electric tingling at her fingertips. She closed her eyes and listened.

After almost ages of silence, Walter finally spoke, "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Eileen asked.

"For killing you."

"It's alright."

Walter glanced down with slight confusion, "...what?"

"I was going to die anyway." Eileen sighed, sleepily.

Walter looked back up at the ceiling, taking in her words. She certainly had a strange sense of humor.


	5. Cut

There was blood on the bathroom floor, on his hands, and running down the sides of his head. Sharp scissors were lying on the wet tile floor, among long, choppy locks of blond hair.

Eileen had woken up to an empty bed again, and heard the water running in the bathroom, which was unusual. Hardly anyone ever went in there besides her when she wanted to shower.

Despite her grogginess, she arose quickly to see if it was little Walter, just to make sure that if he was going to use the shower he had some clean towels and clothes to change into. When she stepped out into the hallway, however, little Walter was knocking impatiently on the door.

"Dad!! Dad, what are you doing in there??"

"...Dad?"

Little Walter looked up at her with worry in his big, hazel eyes, "Dad went in there, and he was crying. I don't want Daddy to cry..."

"...you mean Walter?"

"I'm Walter." The little boy said.

Eileen sighed, not in the mood to question the Walters and knocked on the door, "Walter?"

"Go away."

She stepped back slightly, raising an eyebrow, "Excuse me?"

"Go away."

Eileen sighed, "I think ...'Daddy' is just having one of his moods again. Don't worry about it, I'll take care of him. Trust me, okay?"

Little Walter smiled and made his way back into the living room where he began digging through the large chest full of toys he had collected. Eileen went back to the door and sighed, wondering what a crying Walter would be doing in there. Sleeping next to her couldn't have been _that_ bad, could it?

"...hey..." Eileen said gently, "Walter, what's wrong?"

After an almost painful silence, Walter finally replied, "I... I messed it up."

"Messed what up?"

"...I... I don't want... don't... just go away."

"Come on now, you went through twenty one people to get me here and now you want me to go away? ...what's wrong? Maybe I can help."

Eileen turned the knob slowly, realizing it was unlocked, "Can I come in?"

"...please don't laugh at me."

She could only imagine what he had done to make her laugh. Had he tried cutting his hair or something? Eileen fought back an amused grin at the thought and stepped in. When she saw him, any traces of a smile had quickly vanished as she closed the door behind her. He sat on the floor, wearing only blood stained khaki pants, with small streams of blood trickling down his back and shoulders. Scissors had been thrown aside, and lay on the floor near a small puddle of water.

There were chunks of hair scattered about, cut frantically and chopped impatiently. Walter, huddled over in a fragile, almost humiliated-looking state still had long, thick strands hanging past his face.

"God, Walter, are you alright?"

"I fucked it up."

Eileen knelt down beside him, turning off the running shower faucet. She carefully looked over his face for the source of the bleeding. There were a few gashes near his temple, and some trails of blood implied frustrated gashes at his scalp. He looked away, as if trying to escape her eyes.

"No, you didn't. You just got a little frustrated and threw in the towel too soon..." Eileen said, still looking over his body for any more wounds, "What made you want to cut your hair off though?"

He looked nervous suddenly, hands starting to shake as he was visibly searching for the words to what he felt, "I-I... I wanted... I wanted to look different. I wanted to be different."

"Different?" Eileen smiled, "Why? ...it wouldn't be you if you were trying to be different."

Walter was again searching for words, looking down at the wet tile anxiously as he spoke, "I wanted to be normal."

Eileen wasn't sure how to respond. She knew there was far more he wanted to say, but all he could do was reduce it to just that. 'Normal'. 'Different'. She wasn't about to question it.

"I wanted to be normal for you."

She felt tears forming, and her throat tightening. Eileen fought back the urge to cry. The two both knew that even slight 'normality' was a pipe dream.

There was little else exchanged between the two. Little Walter, out in the living room building a castle out of blocks, caught a glimpse of Eileen on her way to the laundry room. She was wiping tears from her eyes, and returning quickly with some towels, "Mommy? ...are you hurt?"

Eileen stopped, looking back at him with a smile. She shook her head, wiping any remaining tears quickly, "No, sweetie, I'm fine. I was just a little worried about Walter. Are you alright out here?"

The calm and gentleness in her voice reassured him as he nodded cheerfully, "I'm alright. Is Daddy alright?"

With a soft laugh she nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, he's fine."

It was an answer that pleased the little boy, who went back to his block castle. He couldn't wait to finish it and show Mommy and Daddy. It would make them both really happy, he thought.

There wasn't much to fix other than stray, long chunks of uncut hair. The man on the bathroom floor hadn't had anything in mind when he began snipping. Just 'short'. Like all the other men. They were all normal. They were all happy. They had all snidely given him dirty looks as they walked by with their beautiful girlfriends or wives. He had never wanted to be like those men. But for once… just maybe, he thought, with Eileen beside him, he could be somebody else for just a moment.

Walter watched a long strand fall down onto the towel Eileen had strewn over his shoulders. She worked quietly, evening out the choppy locks and wincing slightly at the slowly healing wounds. Occasionally he would get a chill as she dabbed a cold, wet towel over the streaks of blood going down his back.

"It's sweet of you, Walter... but..."

"...you liked it better long, didn't you?" He said with a cynical half-smile.

"I... ...yeah." Eileen sighed, "But I think eternity is more than enough time for it to grow back."

"Tomorrow."

"Huh?"

"Every twenty-one hours, the world returns to its initial state. It will never truly change. Any wounds will heal over the day and be gone by nightfall."

The touch up to his haircut was finished. Eileen stepped back with a smile, "You're all done."

Walter stood, and for the first time since he had entered the bathroom, looked at his reflection in the slightly cracked mirror. He hadn't had short hair since he graduated high school and left the strict Wish House. It had almost been like a form of teenage rebellion back then, when he opted not to keep cutting so short, and as the years passed, he had grown used to seeing it reach his shoulders. Again it was short. Only slightly shorter than the child's.

He gently tugged the towel off, "...thank you."

Eileen had noticed the marks on his shoulders before; one night when he had been tossing and turning in a futile attempt to sleep. Finally, in frustration, he had pulled off his jacket and the black tee shirt beneath, revealing a body with many faint scars and two deeply... 'burned' sigils in his shoulders. They were less like tattoos and more like they had been branded onto his skin. Seeing them again in better light revealed very intricate glyphs, like runes, bordering the sides and a triangular design in the center.

"Sorry." Eileen quickly apologized when she realized he knew she was staring.

"For what?"

"It was rude of me to stare. ...what are they?"

"...Virun crests. For Valtiel."

She figured it must have been a part of the cult that raised him. Eileen had always been fascinated by ancient symbols and cryptic glyphs. She wanted to ask more about them, but decided to ask another day.


End file.
